


Kings of Camelot

by Venstre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cat AU, Fluff, Other, You know...cat things...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstre/pseuds/Venstre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two cats that live just at the edge of a forest in Britain. Their names are most definitely not Merlin and Arthur. That would be just silly; cats don’t have names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kings of Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness I don’t know what I am doing someone stop me please
> 
> This was based on a Tumblr post comparing a shot of Arthur grabbing Merlin by the scruff and dragging him up to a mother cat picking up her kitten. How I got this fic from that and why that even deserves a whole fic I don’t have a clue in the world what am I doing

There are two cats that live just at the verge of a forest in Britain.

Both are males. Usually tomcats don’t travel together, but these two do. Having been born in separate litters, it’s an unusual occurrence. But they don’t seem to know their curious circumstances, and if they do, they certainly don’t care. 

One is lean and black, a shorthair, his eyes the clearest amber that anyone could hope to see. His coat shines in the sun, and white-toed paws pad delicately among the forest floor. The other is a magnificent golden tabby, muscular and strong and proud. His blue eyes flash as he patrols their piece of paradise, his longer fur slightly ragged from old battles.

More than once the shorthair has proven himself to be the brains of the two, while the tabby establishes himself as the brawn. Often the tabby will find himself wandering where he should not be, until the shorthair comes after him and steers him back to safety. And when the shorthair comes across an enemy he cannot outwit the tabby is always there, screeching and hissing and clawing until the other tom is no longer in danger.

A human girl sometimes likes to come and visit the forest. She’s friendly, and knows of the two cats. Sometimes she will bring them food, leaving it by a tree or rock that she often sees them hanging around. Her name is Gwen, and she names the small patch of forest Camelot.

The two cats are more than aware of her presence, and though they were fearful of her the first few times she came they’ve grown accustomed to her. They do not let her near them and they will not touch the food until after she has left, but they no longer flee when they see her approaching.

She likes to scale the trees and watch the world from the highest branches, almost as if she were queen of the land. Sometimes she will only climb a few meters off the ground, making herself comfortable before watching the two cats groom or play. They don’t mind, so long as she keeps to herself.

There is a day when a badger tries to move into the old fox den where they made their home. The black male walks in one evening as the tabby removes burrs from his coat on a mossy rock, and comes shooting out with a horrid screech and his short hair puffed as much as it will go.

Immediately the tabby is by his side, hissing at the unwelcome intruder. It grunts and snarls at them, swiping massive paws at them to fend them off, but it is outnumbered two to one. The tabby gets a little overconfident right before it leaves, coming in a little too close so he can slash at it one more time, and the badger turns and claws him in the chest before he can leap back. Instantly the shorthair is upon the badger, yowling with fury and scratching with new intensity that he does not usually possess.

The badger hastily retreats, wounded and beaten.

The shorthair is already at the tabby’s side, licking his wound carefully. It is not deep, though it bleeds enough to seem that it is.

They sleep where they lay that night, the tabby resting fitfully and the shorthair’s golden eyes flashing in the gloom as he watches over him. At one point a weasel runs at them, arrogant as weasels are and unaware of the dark tom guarding his friend, and the shorthair leaps up and after it so fast the weasel doesn’t know what hit it. The tabby wakes, and when he looks around the shorthair has already killed it and is dragging his prize back for them to share.

By morning the tabby is better, though not completely healed, and he sprawls himself out and purrs as the shorthair cleans his wound once more. He’ll be better by the time the sun is at its highest, and back to his usual self the next day.

That night, as they rest in the abandoned fox den, another girl visits the forest. There is something different about her, something dark. She grins evilly as she dances through the forest, finding the wounded badger and not wasting any time killing it. One could say she might have even found some enjoyment in it. Her intentions are dark, and her name is Morgana.

The smell of death from the badger is on her hands, and it wakes the dark tom. He quietly slips away from his friend, poking his head out from the den to watch the girl’s movements. He follows at a distance, hiding behind trees and making sure he is always out of view. Morgana’s eyesight in the moonlight is poor, he knows that much, though she has confidence in her actions.

At one point he gets too close, and she turns around and spots him. Immediately she grabs at him, and he claws her hand and bites her before turning tail and fleeing back to the den. He settles himself back down beside the tabby, resting his head overtop of the other’s shoulder. His eyes close as he drifts back to sleep, though he keeps one ear trained on the entrance just in case.

By morning the girl is gone, and the shorthair is exhausted from not sleeping much that night. He naps beside a fallen tree as the tabby hunts, and does not notice as Gwen visits again. She knows her boundaries and does not approach him, though she picks a pretty stone nearby and rushes back home unexpectedly early to show her mother her prize. She leaves a bowl of food in her wake for the two cats, promising to come back later.

The shorthair awakes as the tabby comes back, moving unusually quickly, and stoops over the dark tom to grab his scruff between his teeth and haul him up as a mother would do her kit. He meows in protest but is immediately awake and on his toes, following the tabby as he rushes up the nearest tree.

A clamoring group of people can be heard from quite a distance away, though the two toms take no chances. They perch atop delicate branches as they watch a group of tourists trekking noisily through the trees. The tabby’s ears flatten against his head as he stares down at them with contempt. If cats could smile that’s what the shorthair would do, his eyes alight with amusement as he watches the other get worked up over such a trivial matter.

When the group is gone, Morgana comes back. The tabby starts to climb down, not seeing her as a threat, and the shorthair hisses quickly at him. The lighter tom pauses, looking at his friend curiously, though in the end he does come back up.

The girl prances around, and upon finding the food dish sprinkles something in. Neither can see what from where they sit, nor can they even be sure that’s what she’s doing.

After she leaves the two toms come back down. Immediately the tabby sees a mouse cross his trail, and much preferring it to the dry cat food, shoots after it. He brings it back, proud of his prize, and sits down beside a tree and stubbornly refuses to share it with the other cat.

The shorthair flicks his ears in annoyance, and though he knows the tabby will eventually share with him he realizes that it is less effort to just eat the dry food. He’s hungry, after all. It tastes somewhat different in his mouth this time, and after a few bites he stops and decides to pester the other tom for some of his kill instead.

He makes it less than half the distance before he sways to the side and crashes into a tree. The tabby perks up, looking with confusion at his friend before realizing he is in danger. The shorthair struggles to stand, but his legs will not support him and he falls onto his side, wheezing painfully.

Licking his ears and face, the tabby covers the shorthair’s body with his own and begins to yowl. It’s a desperate, sorrowful sound, and he knows he will attract attention.

He’s lucky he attracts the _right_ attention.

Gwen comes minutes later, having taken her stone home and made her way back. She sees the black tom struggling for breath and the tabby yowling pitifully from above him, and she quickly runs forward and drops to her knees.

The tabby hisses as she approaches, but there is fear in his eyes and he lacks the bravado he usually has. Gwen reaches out a hand tentatively, letting him sniff it, and when he looks away she lays it on the other male’s flank. He is burning up, and his heartbeat is growing faint.

She ignores the large tabby’s growling as she picks the weak tom up, cradling him against her chest, and begins to carry him back towards town. The tabby keeps his eyes on her the entire time, wide with fear even though his nose is slightly wrinkled in the beginning of a snarl.

He follows her all the way to the emergency vet’s office, even tentatively stepping indoors to the waiting room. He screeches and hisses when they try to grab him, finally clawing his way up the girl’s pants until he is pretty much laying on top of his friend. She stumbles under the weight of both of them, and an assistant with welding gloves comes to her aid. Prying him off of the shorthair, she forces him into a cage where he screams and yowls and hisses to be let out. His efforts double when they take the other cat to a different room. Throwing himself against the walls of the cage and clawing at anything remotely nearby, he throws a fit until he collapses to his side with exhaustion nearly half an hour later.

He does not sleep, though, as tired as he is. His eyes are open the tiniest bit, a small sliver of blue against the yellow-orange of his coat.

The black shorthair is brought back out nearly two hours later in a cage similar to his friend’s, his stomach completely emptied and still a little drowsy. Instantly the tabby is on his feet again, yowling to his companion, and the girl picks up his cage and carries him out as a vet assistant carries out the shorthair.

They are loaded into a vehicle, cages pressed right up against one another so the tabby can reach his paw between the bars to bat at his friend’s ears. They both purr and rub themselves against one another, relieved to be in each other’s company once again.

When they reach the forest they leap from the vehicle as soon as their cages are open. Happy as they may be, they are wild animals, and not comfortable in the slightest around manmade things. Especially loud, acrid cars. They speed through the undergrowth, black and gold blurs among the green, and the dark tom leaps upon the tabby’s back in friendly play when they reach their clearing once more. Their Camelot.

Morgana is caught in the act later poisoning another cat in the city, and it is made sure she never harms another creature again. Gwen comes to visit from time to time, and the cats come rub themselves against her legs.

One afternoon some time later, the shorthair is lounging in the middle of a sunny clearing when the tabby shoots off. He stares lazily after him, purring in amusement, and watches as he drags back an entire hare. It’s almost as big as he is and he favours his right foreleg slightly, but he drops it at the dark tom’s feet with a purr and steps back. He’s making up for not sharing the mouse with him before, and causing all the trouble they went through.

Instead of eating the shorthair gets up and pads lightly over to his friend, where he sniffs at his paw. He was kicked by the rabbit, leaving it slightly aching and swollen. He purrs and rubs himself up against the tabby, leading him over to his old spot. He then lays himself down beside him, their pelts pressed together, and nudges the rabbit closer to him.

They eat together, purring contentedly, and bask in the warm sun. The shorthair curls himself up against the golden tom’s stomach, at ease and kneading the air with his claws as the larger cat keeps watch. The forest seems even more peaceful than usual. That night the shorthair falls asleep purring, the tabby curled around him and rasping a tongue through his pelt. He is purring as well, letting the dark tom know that he is there and that he would do anything for him, and as the smaller cat wraps a paw around his neck and presses his head against his chest he knows the feeling is mutual.

They sleep contentedly and unafraid that night, the kings of their small patch of heaven; their Camelot.


End file.
